


Chrysopoeia

by Person



Category: Animamundi Dark Alchemist
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:52:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Person/pseuds/Person
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Georik Zaberisk should have been dead, yet somehow he proved to be very stubborn for a shade.  And there are one or two things that he'd still like to take care of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysopoeia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quilljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/gifts).



> Set after the Mephistopheles ending.
> 
> A very easy thing to miss in Animamundi is that the characters Georik will meet during the Inferno chapter change depending on which endings (good or bad) the player has seen prior to reaching it. This is important to know because the second person Georik goes to during this story can only be seen there in-game if you've played it in a way that's let you see them die at least once before. This is just a note to let anyone who hasn't seen their Inferno scene know that, yes, you can meet up with them there, and I'm not just randomly tossing in someone who should be alive and well.

Georik Zaberisk should have been dead. All that he was and all that he'd been should have been reduced to nothing more than a distant voice in the back of Lucifer's mind the moment that he chose to give into Mephistopheles' seduction instead of continuing down the path of salvation. A voice which would have become more and more faint as time passed, until at last it vanished into nothingness.

He had held on to his existence for an impressive length of time; even Lucifer would acknowledge that, although he wasn't happy that Georik's affection for Michael's mortal host had caused him to regain control at the exact moment that he should have been able to vanquish the Archangel at last. No mortal soul should have been able to overwhelm Lucifer's presence once he'd been reborn at last, let alone been able to force his way through all the levels of hell and almost reach the entrance to purgatory. He had done very well for a human, but all of that should have been in the past.

Yet somehow Georik Zaberisk was proving to be very stubborn for a dead man.

Lucifer had benefited greatly from that stubbornness when the man was still alive. A less stubborn person would never have followed the dark path Georik had walked to its end, and the potential for Lucifer's rebirth would have lain fallow and gone to waste within him as it had within so many of his ancestors, leaving nothing left for him but to meet a gruesome end so that potential might be passed down to the next member of his family. Many terrible things could be said of Lucifer, almost all of them true, but he did recognize it when he owed someone a debt. Mephistopheles owed his continued existence to that trait, after the blatant affection he'd held for Georik and the way he'd interfered in the fight against Michael after being specifically ordered to stay away. Perhaps on some level he allowed Georik to rise again in acknowledgment of that debt.

However, if anyone had ever dared to ask him to explain his whims, he would have said that the main reason he allowed it was because he realized just how much the plans he could feel Georik making would annoy the denizens of Heaven.

The first thing Georik did when he found himself in control once more was give up on the possibility of salvation. As much as he yearned to see Lillith again, and to show Mikhail that his faith in him had not been misplaced, he knew that this time he had been damned by his own selfish lust and nothing more. When the sins tainting him had all been born from love for his sister he could tell himself that he deserved a chance to cleanse his soul and leave hell well behind him, but he could no longer make that claim. He would accept the punishment he deserved, as so many others who'd indulged in sins of the flesh must.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't use his new position to improve the lot of those whose punishments he felt were less deserved. Provided, of course, that neither Lucifer nor God would interfere in his efforts. It was in order to test just how much he might get away that he chose the gates of Hell as his first destination, and the being that both sides were most likely to overlook completely.

The great writhing mass of men all bearing Sir Eliphus' face was still piled before the gates as they had been the last time he'd passed by; just looking at them Georik could tell that the war he'd left behind on Earth was still raging, as the group had grown larger than ever since he'd seen it. He remembered how Paracelsus had pitied them, miserable creatures cursed to be forever denied both the glory of Heaven and the pain of Hell for no reason beyond having been created by man's will instead of that of God and thus being incapable of personal grace or sin. Georik himself viewed them more pragmatically; Bruno's chain crusaders, who had spent their short lives slaughtering anyone unlucky enough to cross their paths regardless of whether they were loyal soldiers of the crown or innocent civilians who just happened to get in the way of the coup, would have found themselves in Hell after their deaths at any rate. If anything, he thought that they should be counted as lucky for merely being forced to lurk in Hell while escaping the suffering that should have been their due after the murders they'd committed; Georik chose not to focus on the fact that the same could be said of him.

The same could not be said of the being that he sought within the group.

It wasn't at all difficult for him to find her, although she was only a single figure in the whole great crowd. She was the only girl in the group, after all. The only child. The only one whose hair was an ashen shade of blonde instead of platinum.

And she was the only one who looked just like his sister. That alone would have made her stand out like a beacon to his eyes, no matter how great of a hoard she was hidden in.

* * *

She began to scream the moment she saw him. As he approached she did her best to scramble backwards, but, after having spent the few short weeks of her existence bound in chains from the moment she grew large enough to attempt to crawl, she had no real idea how to use her limbs and couldn't manage anything more than frantic flailing. "I sorry, I sorry, I sorry..." she babbled on and on as soon as it became clear that there would be no escape; to the end they were the only two words she'd managed to learn.

And when at last he stretched out a hand to touch her forehead she responded with the only method of attack that she'd been able to learn during her lifetime, biting down hard on the heel of his palm. "There's no need to be afraid anymore, little one," he told her, allowing her to keep digging her teeth into his flesh as he spread his fingers and rested their tips on her forehead. "I'll never hurt you again." For the briefest of moments he allowed Lucifer's influence to swell within him, rising close enough to the surface of his thoughts for him to grab the powers the demon commanded and use them to wipe her memories completely clear.

She dropped like a stone, but he was quick to catch her before she could slam into the ground. When her eyes opened again all the terror which had been in them was completely gone. "Uwaooo..." she cooed mindlessly, staring up at him with curious eyes.

He didn't regret the way he'd treated her while she'd been alive. Not for a moment, not ever. Even though he couldn't be there with her, Lillith had a chance at regaining a happy normal life again back in the world he'd left behind, and she owed that chance entirely to the new body which he'd created for her. If he'd treated the homunculus kindly, if he'd ever shown it even a moment's worth of affection, he might easily have grown too attached to the innocent creature who shared his sister's face to ever slice her head from her neck, and what good would that have done anyone? At least the way he'd killed her had been quick; if she'd still been alive when he'd left the world she would have just ended up slowly starving to death since Timothy had left his home and Lillith, just a head without her body, wouldn't have been able to reach the creature to feed her even if she'd known she existed. Even if someone had been there to care for her her natural lifespan would have ended after only a few short weeks, and then not only would she still be dead but her body would be useless for Lillith's needs.

But everything was different now. There was no more need to keep himself detached, and with endless time stretching out in front of her instead of a few short months she would be able to learn and develop into a real person. Perhaps in time, when she'd acquired enough knowledge and developed enough of a personality that no one would ever guess that she wasn't a perfectly ordinary human, God might change his mind about leaving an innocent intelligent being trapped in Hell.

Until that day came, there was no more reason for him to treat her in any way other than how a child born of his flesh _should_ be treated. Provided of course that Lucifer wouldn't immediately remove her from his home when he regained control of their body.

She laughed brightly and reached up to grab at his hair when he lifted her into his arms and began carrying her back along the long road towards Cocytus. "You'll need a name now," he told her, although he knew that she couldn't understand his words. "In life you were a second Lillith, in a way. I suppose that must make you Eve."

* * *

He waited through five more times in control of his body before trying to make any other changes, focusing for the time being on ensuring that Eve would be safe and well-tended when Lucifer was the one on the surface. Luckily, it seemed that he had little interest in a homunculus and was content to ignore her and the unused suite of rooms in the mansion that Georik had given her. He didn't even free Mephistopheles from the order Georik had given him to care for her when he was unaware and couldn't do it himself; Georik got the distant sense that it amused Lucifer to leave Mephistopheles forced to watch over yet another Zaberisk as punishment for getting too close to the last.

When he at last was positive that no harm had been done by his first change, he finally turned his attention to what he planned to do next.

In truth, it was what he'd wished to do first. It had been difficult to force himself be patient, to keep an eye out for any hints that God would cast those whose lots he'd improved back into the places he'd saved them from. He thought that in this case, at least, Lucifer certainly wouldn't bother to interfere--this time Georik wouldn't be bringing someone new into his home to annoy or inconvenience him again--but it was also the time that God would be most likely to interfere.

He felt his heart lighten as soon as he set eyes on the person he was searching for, his joy even greater because he knew the good he'd be doing him.

"St. Germant," he said, stretching a hand out with a smile. "Please, come with me."

* * *

St. Germant frowned at the mirror Georik had brought him too, his eyebrows drawn low and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Ah... Georik, should I really go?" His hands curled around his upper arms and clenched tight and he fixed his eyes on the floor, frown growing deeper than ever. "I deserve..."

"Don't say it!" Georik commanded him, grabbing his chin and forcing St. Germant's head up so he could meet his eyes. "I won't have you damned because of the madness Bruno's poisons created within you."

St. Germant pulled back and turned away from Georik entirely, hunching in on himself. "But _Georik_, it was my own hands that..."

"St. Germant," Georik said seriously, "God himself is now the only one better equipped than I am to place judgment on a soul, and I'll tell you truthfully that as you are now, your mind untainted by his drugs, I look at you and see only what I've always known was there; the best man that I've ever known. God might blame you for actions outside of your control, but this isn't _his_ realm, and by the time you reach that place your hands will be clean of your sins." It wasn't entirely true--within Georik Lucifer found St. Germant boringly close to pure for a damned soul, but even without Whistler the Ripper emerging as Bruno broke down his mind, his soul would still be stained by his part in the creation of the chain crusaders and so many other weapons--but Georik saw no reason why he should ever know that. If skipping past damnation to Purgatory would have been enough to redeem even Georik himself, it would surely be enough to allow St. Germant into Heaven. He allowed himself a smile when St. Germant began hesitantly turning back towards him again, and he rested his hand on St. Germant's shoulder. "Besides, what will become of Mikhail if he's left with neither of us by his side?"

St. Germant bit down on his thumbnail, the gesture so familiar that for a moment it felt as though they might be back in their old lives on Earth once more. "What will become of _you_ with neither of us by your side?"

"You may not be as far from me as you think," Georik said, tapping the frame of the mirror while being careful not to brush against the glass. "Tell me, St. Germant; you died after I allowed you to take Lillith from my house, didn't you?"

St. Germant looked stricken at the reminder, but only said, "You know, Georik; you were there."

"Yes, I remember when you died in my arms. But, I _also_ remember that the last living human that I saw as Lucifer before I left the world was you, when I left you my mansion and bid you care for Lillith, herself alive and renewed. There's another man here in Hell who was still alive the last I knew in my life, yet I remember him dying twice over; once while I was there, and once when I only learned of it after the fact, both stemming from the same incident which could never have happened during my lifetime. My father is also here, and I knew when I saw him exactly what he had done to damn himself, yet I also know that I never gained that knowledge in the life which lead me to this place." He pushed St. Germant lightly toward mirror. "There have been so many other Georiks, there must be one who made it through to Purgatory and waits for you in Heaven. Think of how it would pain him to know that you'd been left behind in hell, and how grateful he will be to see you redeemed and well."

"Ah, then Georik," St. Germant said gently, "that would mean that Mikhail isn't alone. And you still would be."

If Georik had ever had any doubts about sending St. Germant on, his insistence on remaining trapped in hell for Georik's sake was proof enough that he did not deserve damnation. "Don't worry about me, my friend, I don't intend to be alone for long." He drew St. Germant into a tight embrace, well aware that this would be the last time he would ever see his friend, and whispered to him, "Be sure to accept whatever penance is asked of you within Purgatory. Heaven must have no reason to deny you entrance."

And then he shoved him backwards through the mirror, pushing hard enough to force him through when it tried to resist his crossing. The last he ever saw of St. Germant was him reaching out to him, his eyes and mouth both stretched wide with surprise, and then he was gone.

* * *

He knew that he should have gone to his father first. A better son would have done so; even if he hadn't yet known what to do with him, simply visiting would be an easy enough display of filial piety.

The problem was that he'd had no idea what to do with his father. Wolfgang wasn't like Eve, innocent of any sin, or like St. Germant, whose most damning crimes would never have happened without another tampering with his will. His father's had been done in madness, true, but it had been a madness entirely his own.

Wolfgang _belonged_ in Hell, and there was no possible excuse that Georik could make that was good enough for him to convince himself that his father might deserve to skip to Purgatory the way St. Germant had.

So he had to find another way.

* * *

"The workshop is exactly as you left it, Father," Georik said, opening the door to the mansion in Cocytus' equivalent to Wolfgang's lab. It had taken him much time to strip the room of the much less pleasant supplies and furnishings which had been provided by whoever had used it in the past and fill it with the necessities of human alchemy, but in the end it became the room in the mansion that Georik felt most at home in apart from his bedroom.

But Wolfgang didn't enter the room. He stopped in the threshold instead, smiling faintly as he watched Georik move around checking all the equipment one last time.

When he finally noticed that Wolfgang hadn't followed him, he turned back with a concerned frown on his face. "Did I forget something?"

"Not at all," Wolfgang said, finally stepping in and reaching out to clasp him by his upper arms. "It just makes me so proud to see you here, my dear son."

It was the first time that his father had touched him in nine long years. Georik had thought himself long past the grief Wolfgang's death had brought him, but now he found his throat growing tight at that simple touch.

"I'm afraid that I won't be able to join you often, Father," Georik told him, voice roughened with emotion. "And you won't be able to leave the cellars to search for me lest you draw attention that I hope you'll be able to avoid, although I've done my best to make a comfortable set of rooms for you among them; I hope that you won't come to view them as yet another prison. You must know that I'm no longer just your son."

"I did have my suspicions when you returned for me when you were meant to have moved on from here," Wolfgang acknowledged, but he didn't look at all fearful or worried. "You are my son, Georik; so long as you're not suffering, I can be nothing but glad to have you by my side again. And if you wish for me to remain a part of your... existence, even knowing the things I've done, then I certainly won't turn you away no matter what you've become."

"Father..." Georik bowed his head and closed his eyes. He could already feel their time together that day running short; Lucifer had little patience for fathers of any sort. "I can tell you one thing which might make your memories a little easier to bear; mother is no where to be found within this realm. You can at least know that you didn't cast her into suffering when you... at that time."

He wasn't sure, from the look on his father's face, whether that information was the comfort he had meant it to be or not.

* * *

His last outing to collect a member of the damned was also his most selfish of all. It wasn't about love, or obligation, or setting right what had gone wrong. It was about what might have been but was never given the chance, and the feeling of lips on his which should have been revolting to him but were somehow anything but.

It was also about revenge.

He didn't allow Dashwood to see him when he came for him, just used a quick twist of Lucifer's power to make him drop quickly unconscious. He had no desire to explain why he remained in Hell when if his plan went as he meant it to Dashwood would only forget again, and on some level he didn't _want_ the other man to have any chance of figuring out just how far he'd fallen.

Carrying him was more difficult than it had been with Eve, his lanky body entirely unwieldy, but in time Georik managed to drag him all the way to his own bed. It was a risk, bringing him there. For the first time he was placing one of those whom he was shielding into a room which Lucifer might also wish to use when he was the one in control of their shared body. It would have been wiser, perhaps, to place him in the room where other preparations for his arrival had been made. Wiser, and yet not what Georik desired.

Lucifer rarely slept, and, now that Mephistopheles had fallen out of favor, had little reason to use the bedroom for other reasons. Georik would need to rely on that.

He wiped Dashwood's mind clear as easily as he had Eve's, although this time he didn't take it all. He sliced away everything after the very moment of Dashwood's death, not leaving him a single memory of his time in Hell. It interested him to see that Dashwood didn't seem to share his own strangely fragmented memories of life, and pleased him that the one memory of his death that he retained was of the time Georik was there with him.

Georik trailed a hand slowly down Dashwood's body, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Wherever he touched the wounds Dashwood had gained from his time in Hell vanished, and those he'd died from reappeared, until he looked exactly as he'd been the last time Georik had seen him in another life. Once that was completed, the real work began.

Georik's medical instruments fit into his hands like old friends, although it had been so long since the last time he'd had cause to do real work as a doctor. Count Sandwich and his men had done their absolute best to entirely ruin Dashwood's body beyond all help, but Georik now looked at him and saw a thousand places to begin repairing him. It was an easy matter to pick one.

Of course, it would have been easier still to simply use Lucifer's power to fully heal him, but he refused to do that. He would heal Dashwood with his own two hands as much as possible now, the only way he could atone for being unable to so before. Besides, if Dashwood suddenly found himself without a single injury it would be entirely unbelievable.

His time working on Lillith's body came in handy now. He doubted that anyone could be found in the world with the skill he now had at piecing a person's body back together, and it was far from just pride which made him feel that way. Necessity had made him an expert at joining even the thinnest of veins back together again, at reattaching snapped tendons to muscle and making them capable of moving as freely as ever, at so many things that any other doctor he might ask would claim were impossible for anyone who wasn't relying on the dark arts every step of the way.

Even more than those new skills, he found himself aided by the knowledge that absolutely nothing he could do would cause any harm. If Dashwood had lived long enough for Georik to have made any progress in attempting to heal him he suspected that he would have wound up too paralyzed by indecision to do much of anything once the initial rush of panicked mending had passed. There were a thousand possible places to begin, yes, but that in itself would have become an impossible choice in more urgent circumstances; how could any doctor choose the most immediately life-threatening wound to focus on when _every_ wound was immediately life-threatening?

But now Dashwood was dead, and if Georik so chose he could have begun by cleaning the smallest and most insignificant scratches on his body and it would be no better or worse for him than if he began by closing up the sword wounds in his side. There was no sense of urgency, no reason to rush; he could be careful, and thorough, and be absolutely sure that each part of Dashwood's body was mended as well as humanly possible before moving on to the next. There _were_ several areas where he was completely irreparable by standard methods, but those were the only places where Georik allowed himself to use Lucifer's power to heal him.

It was long and exhausting work, but Georik surprised himself by how much he enjoyed it. It had been so long since the last time he'd been able to throw himself into his work without the experience being tainted over his fears about what would happen to Lillith if he made a single wrong move, or by his distaste for Bruno when the man was hovering over his shoulder every time he saw a patient. He had missed that feeling without ever truly consciously noticing that it was gone.

By the time his work was complete, Georik had run out of time to spare on him. It had been the longest he'd ever had control over the body in one stretch since becoming Lucifer, and Lucifer's will was coming insistently closer to the surface with every moment that passed by. He wouldn't even have time to check in on his father or Eve that day, let alone wake Dashwood, but that was acceptable.

He would just let him sleep, until he was ready for the facade to begin.

* * *

Dashwood groaned as he began to regain consciousness, and Georik kept a close eye on him. He shouldn't be in nearly as much pain as a person in his condition would usually be--one other small use of Lucifer's powers that Georik had allowed himself--but even that amount could be reduced further if necessary.

"Master?" he finally croaked, cracking his eyes open the smallest slit.

"So, you're finally awake," Georik said gruffly, as if he hadn't just been hovering attentively over him. "Would you like water?"

Dashwood ignored the question. "You... actually did it? Master, you really are amazing."

"You shouldn't thank me just yet. You'll be trapped in that bed for a while yet before you're healed well enough to move from it," Georik informed him. A while in this case meaning only a few weeks, significantly less than it would take a person to recover from wounds as severe as his still were in life, but Georik didn't feel like it was necessary to draw out his healing any longer than that for the sake of the masquerade. It wasn't as though Dashwood could know how long his recovery should take. "How do you feel?"

Dashwood managed a hoarse laugh. "Like someone sliced me apart and stitched me back together, how else?"

Georik reached for a medicine bottle, the contents of which were in truth nothing more than ice from Cocytus melted into bitter-tasting but ultimately harmless water. It had been the best thing Georik could find at short notice to mimic medicine so Dashwood would notice nothing strange if Georik needed to make him more comfortable. "Do you need something for the pain?"

"Haa, Master, can't you guess the pain is good? It's much better than never feeling anything again." He coughed suddenly, and licked his lips with a tongue that was just as dry as they were. "But, if you're still offering that water..."

Georik poured a glass from a pitcher by his bedside, but instead of offering Dashwood the cup he soaked a sponge in it and pressed it to his mouth. "This will need to satisfy you until I trust you to drink without choking." He made a show of checking Dashwood's vitals as the man sucked eagerly on the sponge, though he knew exactly what he'd find. They did exist, but only because Georik willed it so; his heart rate would never be anything but 76 beats per minute, his temperature would always be just the tiniest bit cooler than Georik's own. It made for a neat show of life, but one which wouldn't hold up for long if there was anyone other than Georik who would ever bother to notice it.

Georik had to wet the sponge another two times before Dashwood was finally satisfied, but by the time he was done he seemed much more alert than he had been, looking around the room with obvious curiosity. "We're not in the cellar anymore."

"No. I've moved you to my room," Georik said bluntly, watching Dashwood's reaction closely.

If he'd expected anything more than a slow smirk, he'd have been disappointed. "Why, Master, if I'd known this was all it took to get into your bed, I'd have gotten myself stabbed months ago."

"Don't grow too used to having me here with you. I do have work to focus on besides pulling shady debt collectors out of trouble."

"Yeah yeah," Dashwood said, waving a hand breezily through the air then flinching hard when the movement agitated one of his injuries. He didn't allow however much the pain bothered him to show other than that, just continued on, "your Princess comes first. Ah, Master, you can't disappoint me by spending most of your time on her; I never even would have thought that you'd drag yourself away from her long enough to come for me to begin with."

After how deeply he'd been torn over allowing anyone to live after learning about Lillith's state, it was strange that having let Dashwood in on the secret now gave him such an easy excuse for the frequent absences he'd be forced to take. It wouldn't last him forever--it was only a matter of time before Dashwood became well enough to move around the house on his own when Georik was buried within Lucifer, and he'd surely come across Eve or Wolfgang and realize that something was wrong eventually--but he had plenty of time to think about how to avoid that as long as possible and come up with a new explanation for when it happened.

"I'll leave anything you might need by your bedside, and see to it that Mephistopheles checks in on you often in case there's anything I've forgotten. I don't intend to neglect your care just because I can't be here often to tend you myself."

"One day you'll need to tell me how a man like you could make a pact with a devil like him." Dashwood looked like he was growing tired, his eyelids slowly beginning to droop, but before he could give into it he dug into his pocket and produced a few wrapped candies. Georik had never seen their like before, but when he took them they smelled strongly of anise. "A gift for the princess. It looked like she liked them when I gave her a few before." He yawned widely, then suddenly grabbed Georik's arm in a tight grip. "Hey, Master," he said urgently, "you know that you never needed to worry about her around me, right? I know you warned her to keep away, but she would have been safe even if you hadn't."

"Of course," Georik said. He hadn't _always_ believed that, wouldn't have believed it at all until shortly before Dashwood's death, but it was true now and he could allow that to be a comfort to him.

Dashwood's hand slid away from him, and he slumped back against Georik's pillows. "Good, good. It doesn't matter much. I just wouldn't want you thinking you had anything to worry about while I'm here. I wouldn't even have taken her body if she'd died in the witch hunt, no matter how good of a price it would have fetched; not _your_ sister."

Georik closed his eyes and bowed his head. "There's no reason to fear that. I know for a fact now that Lillith is safe from you."

It would hopefully be a very long time before Lillith would ever again even be close enough to be in danger from either of them.

* * *

Dashwood quickly grew better, as Georik had ensured that he would. He may even have made him heal a little too fast; if Dashwood had ever needed a wound stitched before he might have noticed that the sutures holding his worst wounds together were ready to be removed over a week sooner than they would be for even the fastest living healer. But he made no mention of it as Georik bent to the task of snipping them out one by one.

"In a few more days we might test out how well you can stand," Georik informed him, absently smoothing his thumb over the scarring tissue he'd unstitched as he examine it. He didn't actually have any worries about Dashwood's abilities; his muscles wouldn't atrophy no matter how long he laid in bed, and Georik had been especially free with Lucifer's powers on Dashwood's legs while patching him back together to make sure that the damage wouldn't be bad enough to keep him trapped on his back for long.

There were things that he wished to do with Dashwood which couldn't be accomplished with the man bed-ridden.

Dashwood no longer grew fatigued nearly as quickly as he had when Georik first woke him, and was now sitting up under his own power and watching Georik attentively. "Hah, you'll be glad for that, won't you? The sooner I can walk, the sooner you can get rid of me."

Georik kept his head bent to his task as he told him, "You'll have a place here as long as you want one. Don't worry that you'll have no where to go when you've recovered."

He would be there always, in fact, whether he wished to be once he was well or not. Georik had no intention of casting him out into Hell once more, but there was no other possible place for him; he could no more excuse passing Dashwood onto Purgatory than he could his father.

"Don't start promising things you'll regret when you're feeling less guilty, Master. I might begin to believe you."

"Don't talk like an idiot," Georik snapped. "Didn't you say you wished to serve only me? Don't think that I'll forgive you if you change your mind so easily." He could see by the expression on Dashwood's face that this argument was having an effect and pressed it, grabbing Dashwood by the chin and yanking his head up so he could meet his eyes. "From now on your master is me and no other; not any of Sandwich's monsters who may have survived, no one. Your place is here now."

Dashwood's mouth curled into a slow smirk, teeth showing. "Ahh, Master," he drawled out, "why couldn't you have been this forceful years ago."

Georik grunted, letting go of Dashwood's chin and returning to his work. "Although I don't know what use I'll have for a debt-collector, let alone someone of your other professions."

"I could suggest a thing or two you could do with me." Dashwood reached out to press a hand pointedly against Georik's crotch, smirk still firmly in place.

Georik's only reaction was to lift his hand up again by the wrist and drop it back onto the bed. "I suggest you allow yourself more time to heal before attempting any strenuous activity," he said dryly.

He began slicing out the next set of stitches to the sound of Dashwood's honest laughter.

* * *

He had waited a long time before the revenge portion of having Dashwood's company could begin, not always patiently. More than once he considered finishing Dashwood's healing in one quick burst of power and imprinting him the false memories of a lengthy convalescence in his eagerness to get to the next part of his plan.

The only thing which made him hold back was the knowledge, which grew more certain with every period of consciousness that passed, that the charade he was carrying out was as much for his own sake as for Dashwood's. He'd come to embrace the glory that came from normality, the pure and simple pleasure which had been lacking from his life for months before he'd even been drawn into Hell. What he had with Dashwood was the one thing which could have been his life--his _own_ life, untouched by Lucifer's influence--if only the Georik who'd chosen to join the Hell-Fire Club had been fast enough in his rescue to save Dashwood's life.

He could tell himself as often as he wanted that he'd made Dashwood forget he was dead as a kindness to him, but the fact was that Georik himself was equally glad for the chance to forget for an hour or so at a time that he'd left his own life behind him as well.

But that didn't decrease his pleasure in finally being able to lead Dashwood to the spare back room where everything was prepared.

"I have a gift for you," he said when they stopped in front of the door.

Dashwood glance around them then tilted his head to the side. "This section of the house is for the servant's quarters, isn't it? Why, Master, have you finally gotten tired of having me in your bed? And we've never even made proper use of it..."

"Don't be ridiculous, idiot," Georik said, his voice gruff to try hiding how much he didn't like the idea of preparing him a new room. "Even if that were true, I wouldn't make you live like a servant."

Dashwood threw him a sidelong glance. "Ridiculous? I _am_ here to serve you, didn't you agree?"

"Well for now you can forget about that. I've brought you here to do you a service instead." He threw open the door and revealed his gift; Count Sandwich bound to the wall by chains, a wide selection of blades and bludgeons and other instruments of pain laid out on a table near him.

Sandwich's face when he saw Georik had lost any hint of charm or seduction, all the charisma which had drawn so many now-damned souls to his side buried beneath a glare of absolute hatred. Georik supposed that months spent chained there without any release would have done the same to any man. Sandwich might claim that he'd found pleasure within pain, but even if that were true his mad hedonism in life was proof that one thing he could not stand was boredom; the only experience he was likely to have as long as Georik had left him there alone.

Dashwood froze behind him when he saw the contents of the room. "Count Sandwich?" he asked weakly, and reached out to grab Georik's shoulder and lean heavily on his shoulder. "He was immortal after all?"

"Not at all," Georik said smoothly. "He'll never plague Hardland again. This is nothing more than his damned soul, brought here for me by Mephistopheles so you could personally have revenge for what he attempted to do to you."

At his words Sandwich seemed to brighten, his eyes regaining something of their old spark of wickedness. "_Attempted?_ Don't you know that--"

"If you intend to go into yet another rant about your supposed mastery over pain, save your words," Georik cut him off quickly, _twisting_ Sandwich's mind with as much of Lucifer's power as he could quickly snatch to his command as he spoke to make him incapable of speaking of Dashwood's death. He wouldn't have all of his work wasted by that fiend. "We've heard enough of it."

Georik would have guessed that Sandwich would be enraged by having his words so completely cut off, but instead the man began to laugh. "The Zaberisk family never ceases to entertain! You _are_ your father's son, aren't you?"

"Silence! Do you want your tongue to be the first thing we cut out of you?" Georik growled, breaking away from Dashwood to snatch up a knife from the table. "I was looking forward to hearing you beg for mercy as you've caused so many others to do, but I could pass up on that pleasure."

"Master, this 'gift' is..." Dashwood began only to trail off, clearly conflicted.

Georik came up to stand behind him, knife still clenched tightly in his hand. "He's no longer your lord, Dashwood," he said. "There's no reason for you to show him any loyalty. For what he did to you, he deserves any suffering you can give him."

"He was the one who raised me, Georik," he said, serious for once. "Changing masters doesn't mean that doing... this would be easy."

Georik sigh, stepping close enough to Dashwood for his breath to stir the other man's hair. "If you wish to turn down your gift you're free to do so. Mephistopheles can return his soul to the pits of Hell and ensure that he suffers there," he said in his silkiest tone. It was Lucifer using his voice more than Georik himself now, the demon much more adept at temptation than the man and equally enraged by Count Sandwich for his own reasons; no human could be permitted to twist his place in Hell in order to avoid suffering the way Sandwich had managed to before Lucifer regained his rightful place. "I am not him. _I'll_ never force you to dirty your hands the way he did. But I'd hate for him not to be punished for what he did to you, even if you're safe now."

Sandwich, still laughing, broke in to shout, "You think that you've escaped the Hell-Fire Club, Dashwood you fool? You should remember that no one ever escapes us!"

Georik slid his free hand across Dashwood's stomach and used it to pull him tightly back against him, and pressed the knife from his other hand into Dashwood's, curling both of their fingers around its hilt. "He doesn't regret what he did at all; he doesn't deserve your mercy. Come, Dashwood, let this be the last time you put the skills he taught you to use, and cut him out of your life for good." As he raised the knife in both of their hands to Sandwich's cheek he allowed his lips to graze the back of Dashwood's ear, and when Dashwood moaned and arched back against him without even trying to pull the knife back Georik, and Lucifer within him, knew that for that moment his will was theirs. Georik's voice dropped to a throaty whisper as he murmured against Dashwood's skin, "He loves his face so much, why don't we take it from him?"

Sandwich's laughter turned to outraged screams as together they began to peel his skin away.

* * *

All in all Lucifer enjoyed the time he allowed Georik to be himself. He was paid for that time in the scandalized cacophony he could sense coming from the Heavens with every action Georik took. The self-righteous angels might sing the praises of redemption, but they showed their true colors every time he gave his girl a lesson that raised her a little further from the emptiness of a homunculus and a little closer to humanity, and showed them even more whenever he dared relieve someone of their suffering. As if they had any say in how the damned were treated.

Lucifer was tempted to go against his own nature and modify Georik's mind so he'd have a little more compassion for those souls who weren't directly related to him. It could only bring him pleasure to see how Heaven would react if his human side went off to offer fruit to Tantalus, or pull Brutus free from the jaws which gnawed at him. The only thing which held him back was how much sweeter their indignation was when they knew that Lucifer wasn't influencing his actions at all.

But Lucifer's interest in his actions was waning. Georik had grown too complacent in the months since bringing in the last member he'd added to his little household. He no longer stirred up any type of trouble, content to remain at home and pretend to be alive with his father, his girl, and his sinner. Frankly, he had grown dull.

And when Lucifer grew bored, he made his own amusement.

Dashwood was asleep when Lucifer entered his room, but he came awake the moment the door clicked softly shut. "Master?" he asked groggily, half-sitting in bed.

"How refreshing to find such a subservient human," Lucifer said as he stepped into the false moonlight streaming in through the bedroom window, his voice thick with an amusement that Dashwood could not hope to understand.

"_Demon_." Dashwood's eyes were wide and shining in the night as he scrambled out of bed. Although he had no weapon, he curled his hands into fists and held them at a ready position. "If you're here to harm Georik, I'll--"

"You'll do nothing." Lucifer knocked him easily back onto the bed with one quick shove then climbed on after him, straddling Dashwood's hips. "I have no interest in your master, so don't bother to fear for him."

"W-what..." Dashwood stammered, his usual confidence shattered for once by shock.

"I think it's quite clear what I'm doing, Francis Dashwood," Lucifer told him, slicing through Dashwood's nightshirt with one knife-like fingernail. "I crave amusement, and a Hell-Fire Club member like yourself couldn't possibly be content with the near-chaste lifestyle Georik Zaberisk has offered you. I thought that we might come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Thank you for the offer, but chastity is fine with me," Dashwood said with forced politeness.

"Do you fear what your master would think if he found out? You shouldn't." Lucifer absently grazed his nail over a nipple as he spoke and watched as it hardened. "He's slept with Mephistopheles before, you realize, when you've hardly ever even gotten a kiss from his lips. He'll not judge you harshly for taking pleasure in a demonic body."

Dashwood's body stiffened beneath him and for a moment he clenched his teeth together hard, but he still ground out, "All the same, I'd rather not. Thank you."

"And yet you haven't once tried to push me away. Why is that?"

"I know enough about demons to know I wouldn't have a chance against you," Dashwood said, but despite his protests his pupils began to dilate with lust as Lucifer stroked over the muscles of his stomach. "I can't make Georik need to sew me together again."

"I'm not so cruel as that," Lucifer said, and at least in this one case it was true; bringing Dashwood any torments for daring to deny him wouldn't be worth the headaches Georik could give him once he became aware enough to realize what had happened. He slid his hand further down, stroking through Dashwood's shorts to the already hardening flesh. "Tell me to stop once more, if that's what you truly wish."

But Dashwood's only reply was a strangled moan, his head dropping back and his eyes falling shut as Lucifer smirked. He'd known that Dashwood wouldn't be able to deny him for long; he may have been able to pull together the courage to turn away a demon, but he was Georik's personal pet and he couldn't go against his master's voice no matter how modified it was or what body held it.

In only a moment Lucifer tore away the remaining fabric covering Dashwood and yanked up his legs until he was in a more accommodating position. "So I thought," he told Dashwood, and pressed into him before he had any chance to think of protesting again.

It didn't much matter that he'd had no lubrication or preparation; Dashwood had been Count Sandwich's catamite since he was just a boy, and a member of the Hell-Fire Club since not long after. He was accustomed to his body being used, hard and often, to the point that Lucifer's ministrations seemed positively tender in comparison. At least he freely offered pleasure in return for taking it.

But for someone so experienced, Dashwood came surprisingly quickly. Lucifer wondered if it was a sign of how long he'd been without, then almost laughed out loud at the embarrassing secret he read in Dashwood's mind when his curiosity made him take a passing peek. He'd actually trained himself to have little sexual stamina when he was the one being taken; an easy way to excuse himself from the Hell-Fire Club's orgies early enough that they were still focused on the simple pleasures of the flesh and hadn't yet progressed to anything darker. He was sure that Georik would be righteously horrified by the whole idea that that had been necessary once he was the one aware once more, but Lucifer could only find humor in it, if only for the thought of how frustrating it would be for Georik whenever he finally worked up the nerve to join Dashwood in his bed.

Lucifer didn't last much longer himself, but that had nothing to do with endurance and everything to do with the amount of control he had over his own reactions. There was no more reason to wait, after all, when the greatest pleasure he sought to gain had nothing to do with sex.

As his balls began to tighten he leaned low over Dashwood with a wicked smile and hissed, "And now the _real_ fun can begin."

All Georik could do when he was suddenly yanked from sleeping deep within to being in full control of his body was stare down into Dashwood's eyes with shocked horror as his body automatically jerked in orgasm.

* * *

Georik uncorked a bottle of his father's alcohol--the very first bottle that had been brewed in nine long years--and poured them each a glass. They set across from one and other at the dining room table, the most neutral ground Georik could think to wait at while Dashwood dressed and collect himself.

"That was not me. Whatever he did, I had no part in it," Georik began his explanation, but his voice dropped as he admitted, "But I am him." He paused, giving Dashwood a chance to reply, or question, or do anything at all, but all he did was silently watch and wait for more information. "Count Sandwich spoke the truth when he said you didn't escape the Hell-Fire Club. I tried as hard as I could, but miracles were beyond my abilities and I simply arrived too late."

That got a reaction; Dashwood's eyes slowly began to widen as he understood what Georik was implying. "You're saying that I--"

"Died," Georik finished for him, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him after only one sip of his drink. "Don't think that I stole your memory of it out of cruelty, or some twisted joke; it was the very opposite. I didn't want you to need to remember whatever you suffered through in this place before I came for you, or to cause you further pain when you realized what it must mean for me to be here. I wished... to make this exactly what it seemed until now; a happy, peaceful, if somewhat lacking in variety, life for you. For us."

Dashwood bowed his head slightly, and looked up at Georik from under heavy, furrowed, brows. "Where is 'here', Georik?"

"Lucifer's mansion, in the heart of Hell."

Georik had thought Dashwood's nearly flat expression was a sign that he was angry with him. He wasn't prepared for the way the other man's face crumbled at that. "So after all that I wasn't even able to protect you."

"Dashwood..." Georik reached out to cover his hand and squeeze it. "The Hell-Fire Club never laid another finger on me. Neither did the Inquisitors. What brought me here had nothing to do with your sacrifice. I'm not even wholly sure that I'm dead, although I'm trapped here just as well as if I were."

"Believe me Master, I know more about the Hell-Fire Club than you do. If you've gotten stuck inside of a demon, that sounds like them having their revenge."

"If any of them had ever tried a thing like that, they would have been in for a shock. Lucifer has always existed within me. His soul's been hidden in my family line since before the Hell-Fire Club was even imagined. Now that he's been restored our positions have reversed, and I hide within him instead." He carefully nudged Dashwood's hand until it turned over beneath his, and he could clasp it palm to palm. "I never meant for him to touch you. If he ever dares to try it again, shout so I'll hear you and wake; he may have most of the power over this body now, but I can at least fight him hard enough to make him leave you be."

"And what _do_ you mean for me, Master? Are you keeping me here long enough to make yourself feel less guilty that you couldn't save me and then you'll throw me out? Or am I just a pet here to wag my tail whenever my master managed to come home?" He smiled wryly, and shrugged, "Either way is fine, but I always like to know where I stand, and apparently it wasn't where I thought while that demon's around."

Georik stared at him for a long moment, then closed his eyes tightly and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "You never cease to be an idiot, do you?" He pushed himself to his feet and slowly stalked around the table. "Don't degrade yourself by comparing yourself to Mephistopheles. _His_ place, for now, is babysitting a sister you've yet to meet; _not_ in my bed ever again. _You_ are one of the few companions I've chosen for myself for the rest of eternity, the only one who isn't family, the only one who will ever not be a member of the family as the only one left to join us is Lillith when her time comes." He reached Dashwood's chair and grabbed the back, tilting it backwards so he could glare down at him more easily. "And you're _also_ my patient, so it shouldn't be that difficult to understand why I wouldn't immediately toss you down on my bed and ravish you when you're still recovering from having your insides out!"

For just a second Dashwood was a picture of surprise at the speech, then his expression melted into a slow grin and he reached up to hook his fingers into the collar of Georik's shirt and pull him slowly down. "I think you should rethink who's throwing who down on the bed, Master. You'd be the one to benefit more from my experience. And now that I know I've kicked the bucket, why bother to go on waiting?"

"We're going to be stuck here for a very long time, Dashwood," Georik said, letting himself be pried down until there was only a breath of space between them. "More than enough for the throwing to go both ways."

And for the first time, without it being part of a panicked ruse or the profanity of the Hell-Fire Club's initiation, Georik pressed his mouth to Dashwood's.

And it was good.


End file.
